For my dad
by QueenAurora
Summary: After his father's death, Hiccup isn't sure how to cope. Short one-shot


I don't remember my mother. She was taken when I was just a baby, too young to remember the woman that gave birth to me. I never really knew her. When I was younger, my father used to tell me stories about her. I used to sit on his lap while he told me about my mother. I watched the twinkle in his eyes as he remembered her, the sad smile on his lips when he told me how she used to laugh, how she moved, or how they used to dance under the stars. He once showed me a portrait that was made shortly after I was born. It showed a man, my dad, a woman and a small bundle. My father said that that bundle was me. I had taken the small painting with me that night, staring at it while I fell asleep, trying to imagine what it would be like to have a mother that sang for you, tucked you in at night and kissed away your fears.

I never could.

As I grew older, my father grew distant. He didn't tell me about my mother anymore. I used to ask him, but he would tell me he was busy, that he didn't have time for that childish nonsense, and that I should grow up. I never understood why he became so cold, why he didn't want to tell me the stories anymore. Sure, I had heard them a thousand times, but these stories were all I had.

When I finally accepted that my father wouldn't tell me about my mother anymore, I began to make my own stories, imagining what it would be like if she would have been alive. I imagined how we went to the market together, how we would go picnicking in the summer, or how she would kiss me goodnight. I even imagined fighting dragons together, because that was what vikings did.

It wasn't until I asked Gobber why my father had become so distant and reluctant about telling me about my mother that I found out why. Gobber told me that I looked like her in almost every aspect. I had her eyes, her hair. I had her unquenchable thirst for knowledge, always asking why. That is when I understood. My father couldn't bare to look at me, because I reminded him of his dead wife. I wasn't the viking he wanted me to be, I wasn't like him. I was like her.

And he couldn't handle it.

If you had told me then that in just a few short years I would shoot down a Night Fury, befriend it and ride it, fight the biggest dragon you've ever seen and win losing a leg while doing so, I wouldn't have believed you. Not even if you had sworn on your life that that was what was going to happen.

And yet, all of it did. I met Toothless, and he changed my life in so many ways. My father spoke to me again, he saw me again, he called me son. He told me he was proud of me. I had made peace, I was a hero. And for five years, everything was perfect.

And then it all changed. It changed because of me. Because I was stubborn, because I believed that any man can be changed. Because I tried to talk to Drago. Now I've lost my father, and everything has gone downhill from there.

It seems like a cruel joke. I found my mother and lost my father on the same day, all because of me and my ignorance, my inability to listen. For just a moment my life was complete. My parents reunited, my mother coming home... Now, Now it's all gone.

My dad is gone, because of me.

It's too early, I'm not ready to be Chief. What do I know about running a village. Sure, my dad tried to teach me, but again, I never paid attention. I never listened. Now I wish that I had gone fishing with him, instead of running off in search for trolls. I wish I could sit on his lap again, just one more time. I wish I was little again, and could easily disappear in his strong arms and broad chest. I would give anything to hear him call my name again, to tell me he was proud of me. Heck, I even wouldn't mind if he started yelling at me right now.

I wouldn't mind because it would mean he was still alive. Still with me.

But the silence is deafening. There's no loud stomping around the house anymore. No thundering voice calling me downstairs. No strong arms to hold me, no beard to cry in.

We defeated Drago, I got Toothless back. I found my mom, Astrid loves me, you'd say I would have plenty of reasons to be happy. The village is save, the ice cleared away, and still I can't feel happy. I pretend, I smile everyday, I great the villagers with a cheerful "morning" when they great me, but on the inside, I'm dying. I've dealt with rejection, hatred and death my whole life, but not like this. I was too young to remember losing my mother, but I will never forget how I lost my dad. How can I, when the nightmares haunt me at night, and time after time I wake up crying, his face etched into my memory, his last panicked expression before he threw himself in front of me, to save my life.

My mother is trying, I know she is, but I find it so hard to forgive her. How different things would have been if she had never left. How would my life had been. Would we have made peace much sooner? Would I still have my leg? I'm almost sure that my dad would have been alive.

Years ago I wished I had a mom, now I'm only wishing I still had my dad. Despite his flaws, his viking demeanor, his strange ways of saying that he loved me, despite everything that happened between us, I loved my dad. I always loved him. I always will love him.

I will go on. I must. For Berk. For Astrid. For Toothless.


End file.
